


The Science of Cecil

by SqueekaCuomo



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Magical Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueekaCuomo/pseuds/SqueekaCuomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos hadn’t meant for Cecil to become a subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Science of Cecil

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as a gift for "echan314 " who wanted to read something inspired by [this](http://24.media.tumblr.com/ec30b12a4a28c79be2404aca35cec499/tumblr_mrdkxnDtAU1sn6stdo4_1280.png%20) beautiful drawing by [littleulvar](http://littleulvar.tumblr.com/%20).

** The Science of Cecil **

Cecil, in his own very Cecil-esque way, had asked Carlos to spend a little less time obsessing over science when they were together. That is to say, Cecil made his plea to the entire town of Night Vale via his radio show, before talking with Carlos first.

A year ago, that would have bothered Carlos immensely. He considered his private life to be, well, private. And he’d have seen it as a violation of his privacy that the entire town - because every single member of the town listened to Cecil’s show, as it was made a requirement by the Glow Cloud now that Strexcorp was in charge of the community radio station - knew his private business. In fact, that was one of the reasons Carlos had avoided getting romantically involved with Cecil for so long. Cecil simply could not keep his mouth shut. 

In fact, Carlos was sure that if he were to study the radio host’s DNA, he would find the need to report absolutely _everything_ to a ready and waiting audience snuggled amidst the swirling strands that had caused his hair to grey prematurely and tinted his eyes a most interesting shade of violet. 

Even though it took a while, _quite_ a while in fact, Carlos had come to accept that that was just the way Cecil was. Cecil simply could not help himself, no matter how hard he tried. And while Carlos still couldn’t say that he enjoyed hearing about his relationship over the radio, he could say that he loved listening to just how excited Cecil always sounded when he spoke of them.

The way Cecil’s voice would speed up.

The way his words became filled with an excitement so palpable that Carlos could feel it seeping into his skin.

The way that he seemed so completely overwhelmed with joy that he couldn’t help but invite the entire town to share it with him.

It all touched something deep within Carlos. Something _so_ deep that science - blessed, glorious science - couldn’t even seem to reach. But even though Cecil touched him beyond science, Carlos found that he couldn’t help but study him.

Carlos hadn’t meant for Cecil to become a subject. 

You _must_ believe that.

He did _not_ mean for Cecil to become yet another of the mysterious things in Night Vale that just begged to be studied.

And if it hadn’t been for _that_ kiss, he might not have…

_**A hint of violet…** _

Carlos had had a _long_ day of studying slides of John Peters-you know, the farmer’s, imaginary corn.   
He’d spent hours slicing a single kernel of the prized vegetable to perfection only to have it disappear once he’d placed it under the microscope. He’d searched for it for a full hour before giving up for the day. His head was beginning to ache from straining his vision with the microscope and his stomach had begun to protest. Carlos had thought about eating some of the corn. He could, after all, get more. But when he’d heard Cecil signing off for the night, he’d decided to do the same, thinking that it might be nice to surprise his boyfriend at the station. 

Deciding that the fresh air would help to clear up his headache, Carlos had walked the few blocks that separated his lab from the radio station, avoiding any eye contact with the sheriff’s secret police as he went. It wasn’t that Cecil had told him to avoid eye contact with them, but Carlos had yet to become comfortable around that particular branch of Night Vale’s law enforcement. There was just something so… secretive about them that it set Carlos on edge. And so he’d kept his head down and walked. 

Not too fast. 

Not to slow. 

Instead, at just the right speed to give off the impression of one out for an innocent early evening stroll.

But even though Carlos had thought that he’d timed his walk perfectly, he’d been shocked to find that Cecil was not yet outside. A quick scan of the parking lot and Carlos had decided that he might as well climb into Cecil’s perpetually unlocked car, a powder blue 1958 Cadillac, to wait. He did want to surprise the host, after all.

It took Cecil _much_ longer to finish up than Carlos had thought it would, much to the displeasure of his still-aching head. But by the time Cecil had _finally_ opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat, Carlos had come up with a plan. Perhaps he had come up with it out of boredom. Or perhaps it had been borne of his innate desire to test and hypothesize. 

No matter the reason for it, the second that Cecil had pulled the door shut behind him, Carlos sprung out from under the blanket he’d covered himself in. As he’d taken in the shocked expression on his boyfriend’s face, he’d come to the conclusion that he hadn’t actually expected his plan to work. He’d also decided that the look of surprise on Cecil’s face was too good to pass up. 

Without so much as a hello, Carlos had leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against Cecil’s, his fingertips instinctively tracing the curve of his jaw. And even though his eyes were shut, the scientist had known that Cecil’s were still wide with shock.

All too soon, Carlos had pulled away, hoping that he’d find Cecil looking back at him, his eyes still full of surprise.

What he’d seen, however, was much more interesting than a just kissed, barely breathing radio host. Because despite the fact that Cecil was still staring at him in wonder, Carlos had found his gaze drawn to his boyfriend’s mouth. 

Cecil’s lips, parted slightly, were tinged the gentlest shade of violet imaginable.

The color had only last for a second, fading so quickly that Carlos had been tempted to believe that it was merely a trick of the light. It was dusk after all, and the last rays of sunlight were slipping through the car’s front seat, trying desperately to hang on. 

But Carlos knew better than that. 

And he knew what he’d seen. 

_**A trick of the light…** _

The savory smells of chicken and what could only be Cecil’s favorite mushroom marinara sauce pulled Carlos out of his nap. He’d lain down on Cecil’s couch, intending to study his recent findings on John Peters - you know, the farmer’s - oranges, but the last thing he remembered reading was, “ _should never ingest_ ” before drifting off to sleep. How long he’d been out, he didn’t know, but it must have been quite a while if Cecil had managed to cook chicken and pasta. 

Carlos reached up and scratched his head, as if he could scratch his grogginess away. He felt his hand disappear into a mess of curls and thought that maybe it was time for another haircut. Sure, Cecil would be upset. And yes, it really would be smarter to do it without Cecil’s knowledge, but it had to be done. He could only stand his hair to get so long before he had to trim it back. 

With thoughts of how he was going to keep Cecil from attacking Telly, the barber, Carlos rolled off the couch and followed his nose into the kitchen. It was a short walk and he was barely more awake than he’d been on the couch, but the second he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, he felt himself perk up. 

Cecil, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and an apron covering his button-down shirt and pinstripe pants, was bent over a simmering pot. Touched by the site, Carlos watched as Cecil grabbed a large wooden spoon and gave the sauce a few stirs. A look of deep concentration on his face, Cecil brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted, his eyebrows drawing even more closely together. Something was clearly not right with the sauce. 

Carlos smiled to himself as Cecil’s face lit up and, spoon still in hand, he reached for the garlic salt. The smile on Carlos’ face faltered a little as Cecil began to shake the powder into the pot. While Cecil _loved_ to cook, he’d yet to master the finer arts of seasoning 101. Carlos could recall more than one meal where there had been just a touch too much of this or that, and by a touch, he really meant _way_ too much, bordering on inedible. 

Worried about the direction his dinner was going, Carlos couldn’t stop himself from interjecting, “I think you’ve got enough.” He made sure that his tone was soft, sleepy (complete with a yawn for dramatic effect), so that Cecil wouldn’t think that he was criticizing him. 

At the sound of his voice, Cecil jumped and dropped the entire shaker of garlic into the pot of sauce. “Carlos!”

Carlos cringed - turned out dinner was going to be chicken marinara with an extra helping of garlic. “Ah well,” he thought to himself as he rushed towards the stove. “Could have been worse. He could have dropped in jalapenos again.”

Cecil fished the half-empty container of garlic salt out of the pot just as Carlos reached his side. As Cecil waved his hands about, apologizing and worrying about ruining their dinner, Carlos grabbed the wooden spoon and scooped out the large pile of powdered garlic and shook it into the sink. Just maybe, if he got it all out, dinner wouldn’t be ruined. He turned back to the pot, deciding to scoop out most of the top layer just in case. 

“Carlos, I…” Cecil sounded so upset that Carlos couldn’t help but look over at him. The radio host had splattered his “I <3 Scientists” apron with dots of red and there were even a few spots on his face. How he’d managed to make such a mess, Carlos didn’t know. “I…”

“Shhhh…” Once again, Cecil shook the contents of the spoon into the sink, not wanting to end up with any of it on himself. His gaze, however, never left his boyfriend. “It’s ok.”

Cecil’s chest rose and fell with his emotions and it was clear that he was very upset. “No it’s not. I wanted this to be _perfect_.”

“And it will be.” Carlos took the sauce-covered garlic container from Cecil and dropped it in the sink. He quickly rinsed the spoon, plastic canister, and the sides of the sink down. Cecil watched him, clearly not believing a word that he was saying. “Look…” The scientist dipped the spoon into the pot of simmering sauce and gave it a few stirs, praying that the garlic salt would be mixed in well enough that it wouldn’t be overpowering when he tasted it. “See?” He pulled the spoon out and tentatively pressed it to his mouth, unsure of what he would end up tasting. “Just right.” And surprisingly enough, it was. The garlic was there, its flavor mingling with the tomatoes and other seasonings, but it wasn’t overpowering. 

Cecil crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together, looking like a petulant child. Carlos did his best not to laugh as he held the spoon out for his boyfriend to taste. Rather than taste it though, Cecil said, “I still don’t-” 

But Carlos didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence, choosing, instead, to press the sauce covered utensil to Cecil’s mouth just as he opened it. He half expected Cecil to pull away, to spit what little sauce he’d tasted into the sink with his usual dramatic flair. 

Cecil, however, did neither.

Instead, he pulled away just enough to lick the red from his lips, clearly pondering what he was tasting. Carlos watched in amusement as Cecil’s eyebrows drew together and then rose up in two perfect arches that would rival a McDonald’s sign. (If Night Vale had a McDonald’s, that was. He’d heard rumors of one, but still had yet to actually see it with his own two eyes.) 

Carlos was just about to ask him what he thought, when Cecil exclaimed, “Yes! I do believe that that is the proper ratio of garlic to crushed beetle eyes.”

“Crushed what?” Carlos swallowed, suddenly worried about just what kind of cooking class his boyfriend had been taking.

“Oh, you _know_ ,” Cecil said, waving the spoon around. “Crushed beetle eyes, my mother’s favorite secret - well not so secret anymore,” he chuckled, “-ingredient.” 

The tangy remains of the sauce lingered in Carlos’ mouth, but now they were tinged with something that could only be described as… _beetle-y_. Rubbing his tongue over the roof of his mouth in an effort to scrape the taste out of his taste buds, Carlos watched his boyfriend flit from chicken to the pasta sauce. “You mean…”

“Now that I think about it, though,” Cecil slipped the chicken breasts from the frying pan and onto two plates. “I should have known all along. My mother always made sure to pick up a bottle whenever we went to the Ralph’s. She’d say to me, ‘Cecil, one day you will be married to some trashy layabout and it will be your _job_ to feed her. And when you do, you better…”

Whatever else Cecil’s mother had to say on the subject, Carlos didn’t know. He’d taken to tuning his boyfriend out whenever he started taking about his mother; her words of “wisdom” always seemed to be filled with doom and gloom. And even if they weren’t, the need to rid himself of the aftertaste of beetle eyes seemed much more important at the moment.

Grabbing the glass off the sink, Cecil filled it to brim and drank it straight down. As it settled in his stomach, making him feel uncomfortably full, he thought about filling his glass again. Before he could, though, something strange caught his eye. 

Across from him, Cecil was pouring the beetle sauce over their chicken and some pasta that Carlos hadn’t noticed before. The radio-host was still talking, rambling on; about what, Carlos didn’t know or care. Because as he watched his boyfriend, watched him carefully aiming the steaming pot over the plates, Carlos _swore_ that he saw something on Cecil’s arm move. 

It was just a slight movement, a small streak of violet twining around the black and purple peaks that made up the tattoos on Cecil’s forearms. And before Carlos could really understand what he was seeing, it was gone, like smoke dissipating into the air. He stood at the sink, the empty water glass clutched in his hand, watching, waiting for it to appear again. He’d seen it, he _knew_ he had. But the longer he waited, the longer he stared at Cecil’s skin and nothing happened…

The more he began to doubt what he’d seen.

Tattoos couldn’t move.

Tattoos couldn’t produce violet streaks that moved over someone’s skin like a shooting star.

Tattoos couldn’t possibly appear and disappear whenever they wanted.

Carlos gave his head a quick shake, hoping to clear away thoughts of moving tattoos. As he set the glass back down on the sink he told himself that it was just a trick of the light.

He almost believed it. 

_**Out of curiosity…** _

The clock on the bedside table told Carlos that it was just after three in the morning. He’d been blissfully, wonderfully sound asleep until an elbow to the face and shouts of treacherous ducklings ripped him from unconsciousness. Cecil, Carlos had come to realize, was a _very_ active sleeper who talked just as much during his slumber as he did during the day. At first Carlos had thought it was charming, just another of Cecil’s quirks. But now, with his nose aching and the impending thought of insomnia settling upon him, he wasn’t so sure.

The radio host moaned and flopped onto his side, his knee making painful contact with Carlos’ thigh. Carlos hissed in pain and jostled the bed just enough to pull Cecil from his dream, but not enough to wake him up. If Cecil were to wake right now, that would be it, there’d definitely be no more sleep for himself, Carlos knew.

For the next few minutes, Cecil was calm, his breaths deep and even and his mouth shut. Feeling just a _tiny_ bit smug, Carlos settled himself back into his nice, warm covers. He could feel himself slipping over the edge, sleep gently reclaiming him, but before he could jump off the precipice and into sweet slumber, he had a thought. 

Carefully rolling onto his side to face Cecil, Carlos held his breath. He felt stupid. This was _not_ scientific at all, but he wanted to try a little experiment, just out of curiosity. After all, this whole thing was ridiculous. There was absolutely _nothing_ weird about Cecil’s tattoos. 

Nothing at all. 

But still…

“Cecil,” Carlos whispered, running his fingers over the other man’s jaw. A small smattering of stubble had already appeared and Carlos ran his fingers over it again, enjoying the sensation. When his boyfriend didn’t so much as sigh, he tried again. “Hey… Cecil.”

When Cecil muttered a low, “Hmmm?,” Carlos felt his heart thud in his chest. He knew that what he was doing was a long shot, but he had to give it a try anyway.

“Cecil,” Carlos pressed his lips together as he fought back a wave of stupidity. “Can you hear me?”

Cecil hummed again, a deep sound that seemed to rumble up from his throat. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than normal, “Of course I can, my perfect Carlos.”

Carlos paused long enough to remind himself that Cecil was sleep. He’d asked his boyfriend, many times, to cut back on the P word, and he had. He guessed that he couldn’t really blame the other man for using it while he was asleep. “I- I want to ask you something…”

“K,” was all Cecil got out as he snuggled more deeply into his pillows.

Once again, Carlos pressed his lips together. 

This was it. 

The moment of truth.

Well, not really, since he couldn’t actually trust anything Cecil said while he was asleep. 

But still, Carlos told himself, it was worth a shot. Even if it was just a shot in the dark. 

Pressing his lips together so hard that they hurt, Carlos took a deep breath through his nose. When he could hold it in no longer, he blurted out, “Where did you get your tattoos done?” He resumed holding his breath as he waited for a response from his boyfriend.

A sleepy “Oh,” came from Cecil, and for a moment that was all he said. Carlos waited so long for him to finish the thought that he was suddenly forced to exhale the breath he’d been holding with a soft _puuuh_ into the darkness. 

But just when he was about to give up, Cecil shifted a little more into the covers and said, “You know…” 

“No, I don’t know,” Carlos wanted to scream, but he kept his mouth shut for fear of fully waking the radio host.

“The normal place that…” Cecil’s voice drifted off and before he could say anymore he began to snore, a light sound that tickled Carlos’ ear. 

Carlos’ eyes widened in suspense, how could he have been so close to an answer, only to be thwarted by snoring? He wanted to shake the bed again, jostle Cecil’s shoulder, _anything_ if it would bring his boyfriend back into the dreamy conversation. He needed to know what the _normal_ place was, because as far as he knew, Night Vale didn’t have a tattoo parlor of any sort. Not even at the Ralph’s. 

His mind racing, Carlos reached out for Cecil’s shoulder. His fingers, stretched and eager, were mere millimeters from making contact with the cotton of Cecil’s pajama top. He was so close…

At the very last possible second, just as he was about to give his boyfriend a gentle shake, Carlos pulled his hand back as if he’d been stung. What was he doing? This wasn’t science! This was the sleepy ramblings of a chatty radio show host. There was absolutely nothing scientifically conclusive about a single word that Cecil had just uttered. 

Feeling ashamed of himself, and vaguely wondering what Night Vale had done to his scientific sensibilities, Carlos rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It was made of plain white stucco, the dips and grooves showing like tiny hills in the darkness. If he squinted, they almost looked like mountains. But for that to be the case, mountains would have to actually exist. And as everyone in Night Vale knew…

Carlos pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Cecil’s tattoos were clearly the path to Carlos’ madness. The road would be paved with wide purple-inked eyes that were framed with deep black lines that looked vaguely like mountains. Once again, Carlos pressed, this time hard enough to cause a tiny explosion of stars to blossom in front of his eyes. The sight was comforting, soothing. It was real. It wasn’t a moving tattoo or crazy pasta sauce ingredients. It was simple science. 

Press on your eyes and they interpret it as movement, which causes the spots.

Nothing more than that.

Carlos dropped his arms, but left his eyes closed. The spots were fading, but he could still see them a bit. In a way, he felt like that mirrored his own grip on scientific fact since coming to Night Vale. At first it was strong and unshakeable, but now it was beginning to fade somewhat.

He hated to admit that to himself, but it was the truth. 

For the next hour Carlos recited facts and theorems in his head, determined to regain his grasp of reality. But even as he did, a single fact still remained…

There was something strange about Cecil’s tattoos.

And that _was_ a fact. 

Even if it _wasn’t_ science.

_**What happens when I…** _

It started out just like any other make out session between them.

A sense of relaxation and contentment after a nice dinner.

A bottle of wine on the coffee table, their glasses half-full.

A movie that ceased to be interesting thirteen and a half minutes ago. 

Before Carlos knew it, Cecil’s lips had found his in a gentle, questioning touch. It amazed him that after three months together Cecil still seemed to ask for permission to touch, to kiss. Carlos had never denied him, not once, and he didn’t think that he ever would. 

The kiss was barely there, like the brush of a butterfly’s wings against his cheek. And much like the beat of a butterfly’s wings, it set off a chain reaction of sensation that quickly flooded through Carlos’ body. His heart beat sped up, his hand twitched around the stem of his wine glass. His lips parted slightly, his body leaned unconsciously into the touch.

Carlos had just a moment of wondering if just _maybe_ Cecil’s light kiss wasn’t a question after all, but the spark he knew would light a fire instead, just before the radio host caught his mouth for real. The kiss was tender, but sure, full of love and assurance. Carlos could feel Cecil smiling against him and that caused his own lips to turn up in happiness.

There was something very simple about Cecil – he _loved_ to be loved. And Carlos loved returning that affection. It was so pure and good that Carlos couldn’t help but bask in the joy of it. 

He pulled away just long enough to place his wine glass on the coffee table before wrapping his arms around his boyfriends waist. It didn’t take much, just a simple tug, and Cecil was on his lap, pressing their foreheads together, his arms wrapped around Carlos’ neck. 

Carlos was just about to recapture Cecil’s lips when something out of the corner of his eye caught his gaze. Cecil’s shirt sleeves, as usual, were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms and the tattoos that adorned them. It was slight - literally, just a blink of an eye.

A blink of an eye.

Carlos pulled back abruptly. He wasn’t seeing… _that_. He’d told himself, after that night in bed a few weeks again, _science_. Nothing more. And he’d stuck to it, not trying to examine Cecil’s tattoos even once. But now…

Now…

With Cecil on his lap, and his forearms close enough for Carlos to kiss, he would have sworn, if he weren’t a strict scientist, that one of the eyes on Cecil’s forearm had _blinked_ at him. It happened only once, but it _had_ happened. 

Science or no science. 

“Carlos?” Cecil sounded concerned and Carlos turned his still startled gaze back to him. Cecil’s lips were just beginning to turn I’ve-just-been-kissed-pink and he had a few stray strands of grey hair hanging in his eyes, his worried eyes. “Is something… wrong?” The last word came out as a whisper.

“No.” It came out harsher than Carlos had intended and he gave his head a quick shake to try and get the image of the blinking tattoo to go away. “I… _no_.” And he meant it; science was his master, not magical tattoos that seemed to be staring at him even as he tried not to stare at them.

Cecil didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. No. I mean…” What did he mean? He’d been so _good_ about ignoring Cecil’s tattoos, but now he felt confused. What _were_ they? “I don’t know.”

Cecil slid from his lap and Carlos let him go. He felt so defeated in that moment that he couldn’t meet his boyfriend’s eye, or even the eyes of his tattoos. He’d tried so hard and it had been doing so well, now here he was again, obsessing over something that was beyond science. “I’m sorry.” And he was.

Even though Carlos was staring at his lap, he could feel Cecil watching him. “Is there a problem, Carlos?” Cecil asked again. His voice shook a bit, like he was worried about what the answer might be.

Carlos finally looked up. “I just…” He trained his gaze on Cecil, determined not to look at the tattoos covering his forearms.

“What is it?” Cecil’s voice shook even more. “You can tell me _anything_.”

Anything.

Could he really tell his boyfriend _anything_? Could Carlos really admit that he was seeing the tattoos on Cecil’s arms moving? And that he’d been obsessing over them for quite some time now?

“Carlos?” 

Carlos didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, lost in his thoughts. But as he stared at the radio-host’s open face, Carlos realized that it was now or never. “Your tattoos,” he blurted out, wishing instantly that he hadn’t.

“My tattoos…” Cecil rubbed his forearm self-consciously. “Is there something wrong wi-”

Carlos could see his boyfriend’s mind working, could already tell the path that is was heading down. “No!” He reached out and pulled Cecil’s right arm towards him, holding his wrist gently with his right hand and tracing the curve of one of the eyes with his left.

Cecil shifted a bit on the couch next to him, whether it was because he was uncomfortable or wanted to get closer, Carlos couldn’t tell. But then again, he didn’t care. He’d given in, his mind was racing, trying to figure out _what_ was going on with Cecil’s tattoos, trying desperately to make them fit into one of his beloved theories. 

In that moment, Cecil had ceased to be his boyfriend. Now he was a subject, something worth studying and deducing. 

“Tell me,” he heard himself say, falling just shy of manic, as he greedily studied Cecil’s exposed forearm. “What are _these_? Where did you have them done? What kind of ink was used? Please, I need to know!”

Carlos sensed Cecil’s tension in the way he clenched and unclenched the hand that Carlos was gripping. The feeling of tendons contracting and relaxing in his grip quickly brought him back to himself. He didn’t want to scare Cecil, or make him uncomfortable in any way. He was his boyfriend, Carlos reminded himself, and _not_ a lab rat. 

He looked up at Cecil, his eyes pleading as he said, once again, “Please?”

Cecil stared at him, as if he wasn’t sure if he was his boyfriend or an alien, for a few seconds before answering. “Well, they’re not _really_ tattoos.” His violet eyes dropped to his own arm and the markings it bore. 

At that moment, Carlos was pretty sure that his head was about to explode. 

“ _Not_ tattoos?” He took a deep breath in an effort to contain himself. The thought that Cecil’s tattoos weren’t tattoos was simply unbelievable, impossible. “But you told me you’d had them done…” Carlos’ mind flashed back to the night he’d tried to coax some sort of confession out of his sleeping boyfriend. It had only been a couple of weeks ago, but it seemed like forever since he’d tried to get Cecil to talk in his sleep.

Cecil’s expression shifted to _alien, definitely alien_. “I never said-”

“But you did,” Carlos pleaded. “In your sleep, I asked you, you said…” 

“In my sleep?” Cecil’s eyebrows, still jet black despite the gray patches in his hair, rose comically. “You believed something I said while I was sleeping?” Cecil’s voice took on the tone he used whenever he was amused by something sweet that Carlos hand done. Normally, Carlos liked it, but now… Now he found it mildly irritating. This was not the moment for Cecil to find him perfect or adorable.

Carlos didn’t respond.

Finally, Cecil’s eyebrows returned to their rightful position on his face. “I talk in my sleep, you know that.” His voice was matter-of-fact but there was still a glimmer of joy in his eyes. “It’s something I’ve always done. At first my mother thought that my sleep talking was messages from the blood stone being channeled through me. It wasn’t until she realized that you couldn’t actually perform a blood sacrifice under a blue moon without the Sheriff’s Secret Police fining you for indecent exposure that she realized that I was just babbling nonsense.” Cecil grinned ever so slightly. “I talk Carlos, it’s what I do.”

“Right…” Carlos felt like a fool.

_Of course_ Cecil lived to talk.

_Of course_ Cecil babbled in his sleep.

_Of course_ Carlos shouldn’t have trusted a single slurred word he’d said.

He knew all of this, had known it then, but still, he’d chosen to put his science up against the sleepy ramblings of someone who could talk about _anything_. On second thought, Carlos reconsidered, _fool_ didn’t even begin to cover it. He should hang up his microscope; donate his collection of slides to the high school. In that moment he wasn’t fit to be called a _scientist_.

“I, uh…” Carlos’ mouth had gone dry. What was he supposed to do now?

Cecil looked at him, tipping his head to the side in curiosity. “Why the sudden interest in my tattoos?” His face changed from curiosity to interest in less than a second. “Have you developed a _thing_ for them? I can’t wait to tell my listeners. They’ll be so-”

“No,” Carlos stopped him. He didn’t want to hear about what Cecil’s listeners would think of anything right now. Especially if it concerned him and some new kinky tattoo fetish that Cecil seemed to think that he’d developed. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Oh.” Cecil looked crestfallen as he took in Carlos’ answer. It was clear that he’d been planning an entire segment for his show and that it had just gone out the window. “What is it then?” 

Carlos heaved a sigh that held all the frustration that had built up in him since he’d first suspected there was something strange about his boyfriend’s tattoos. “They’re just…” He gestured at them lamely. “They’re strange, Cecil.”

Cecil’s eyes widened in shock. This clearly wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“I swear, even though I know it’s _not_ possible,” and he _really_ did know that, “they move.” Carlos ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. I feel like they watch me, like they _know_ I’m watching them. I even thought I saw one of them blink-”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Cecil said matter-of-factly.

“Huh?” Was all that Carlos could manage to say. Because… _huh_?

“I said,” Cecil shrugged nonchalantly, “that wouldn’t surprise me.” He slid a little closer to Carlos and held out his left arm, where a row of eyes was surrounded by jagged looking points that reminded him of pyramids. 

Carlos reached out and took the proffered arm, looking straight into the inked eye. It did nothing, just stared at him and for some reason that bothered Carlos. Now was its chance and it was playing coy. The second the thought crossed his mind Carlos let go of Cecil’s arm.

“Carlos,” Cecil all but whispered.

“No,” he found himself saying again. “Tattoos don’t, no, they _can’t_ move.” Carlos felt like he was bordering on hysterical again.

“Well of course not,” Cecil chuckled. Carlos couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at him. “But these _aren’t_ tattoos.” 

The only response that Carlos could come up with, that bordered on coherent anyway, was once again, “Huh?” 

Cecil’s eyes sparkled in amusement. It could not have been any clearer that he was enjoying himself. Carlos wanted to be angry with him for that, but he was too exhausted. “Look,” he offered Carlos his arm once again and Carlos took it. His grip was loose around Cecil’s wrist; he couldn’t bring himself to grab hold any higher. “Are you looking?” Cecil teased.

It took all of Carlos’ will to _not_ roll his eyes. “Yes,” he lied. But as soon as the lie was out of his mouth, he regretted it and made up for it by staring at Cecil’s forearm. “What am I looking at?”

“My life.” For such a large statement, Cecil made it sound like he was talking about nothing more important than what they needed to pick up the next time they went to the Ralph’s. 

“Your…” Carlos tightened his grip and began to study the markings. To him they were tattoos, black and violet eyes surrounded by points and lines. They certainly didn’t look like anyone’s _life_.

“Life.” Cecil reached out with his free hand and traced one of the eyes; it blinked as if it had just been tickled. Carlos’ first instinct was to drop his boyfriend’s wrist and back away as quickly as possible, but the scientist in him quickly took over and he found himself leaning over Cecil’s arm instead. 

“I don’t understand…” Carlos muttered, as he tentatively ran his own fingertip over the eye. Once again, it blinked. Carlos felt the urge to pull his finger away, but instead he began to trace the points surrounding the eyes. As his finger moved over the black lines they blurred slightly, quickly becoming solid again as his finger moved along. It was intoxicating, watching those strange markings, markings he’d thought were tattoos, move and respond to his touch.

“Major moments…” Cecil shivered a bit as Carlos traced over a sensitive spot on his arm. “They always show up on my arms.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “It started on my twenty-first birthday,” an eye on the inside of Cecil’s arm winked and Carlos took it to mean that he was the first. 

“They’re like a map,” Carlos heard himself saying breathily. This was amazing, impossibly amazing. How had he never taken the time to really _touch_ Cecil’s _tattoos_ before? “To… you.”

In response, Cecil chuckled. “Yes, basically.” 

“How do you know when a new one will appear? Are you able to choose? Do you get to decide what the new marks will look like?” Carlos had a million questions and he fully intended to ask every single one of them. “Do you feel it? Do they appear when you’re watching? Can you feel them moving on your skin?”

For once, it seemed, Cecil was not in the mood to talk. Instead he just said, “No.”

Shocked by Cecil’s lack of response, Carlos looked up at him. The radio host’s face bore a gentle smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes ever so slightly. The scientist in Carlos sat back, leaving only one question behind. “Will I ever become one of them?” He ran his thumb over Cecil’s forearm, marveling at the sight of the tattoos shivering and blurring beneath his touch.

Cecil’s smile widened and he said, “Yes. I’m sure of it.”

Carlos sat back on the couch and thought about that for a moment. It denied all logic or science to believe that he would someday become a mysterious tattoo on his boyfriend’s arm. But despite his scientific background, he believed it. He also believed that if he tried to study the not-tattoos on Cecil any further he would quickly go mad. 

So, just this once, he gave in to the science that was Cecil. 

 

**Squeeka Cuomo’s Notes**  
\- Erin: I hope you like it! I tried to make it light and lovely, for you. (Which we both know is _not_ my forte…) *hugs*  
\- Pratyeka: Thank you so much for the beta! :)  
\- Reviews are love.


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